


The Fix

by MsBee



Series: Lore and Ishara - Eclectic Tales [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Robot/Human Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25444255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBee/pseuds/MsBee
Summary: Ishara knew he was an android but Lore had always taken pains to avoid displaying the full reality of his synthetic nature to her - there was no hiding it now.
Relationships: Lore/Ishara Yar
Series: Lore and Ishara - Eclectic Tales [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621099
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	The Fix

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows ‘Digging Deeper’ my last Lore and Ishara story. You don’t need to read them both but the treasure hunting theme starts there.

A single shaft of sunlight filtered down through the pitch dark cavern, illuminating the top of a thin pillar where a golden statue rested. Once upon a time this statue had been a sacred idol, part of the intricate ceremonial rituals of the Zeintan civilisation, but now it was a relic, lying forgotten for centuries at the heart of this lost temple, deep underground.

Lore studied the little humanoid figure, nose to nose with it on it’s raised platform. By any reasonable standards of aesthetics it was an ugly thing - the body was squat, the head disproportionately large, the face contorted in a rictus grimace of amusement or agony.

At another time the android might have felt an odd sense of kinship with it - a golden figure, abandoned by it’s creators - but today he saw it only as treasure, a prize that he’d been seeking for weeks.

He cast a sharp look back at Ishara and, covering him from the entranceway, his partner nodded her readiness. Her face was only partially illuminated by the portable light clipped to her jacket, but the android could see her anxious scowl as she peered into the shadows surrounding them.

Lore didn’t blame her for her unease. The passage that led down to the cavern had been filled with traps and puzzles to prevent the unworthy from reaching this sacred place. There was an unnerving stillness here, a watchfulness that made him recall the long spikes that had shot out from the wall in the corridor in response to a small misstep.

The android turned back to the statue, and, in spite of himself, he hesitated.

The little man’s golden grin seemed to taunt him for his caution.

Lore felt his own lips curl back in a snarl. This was his treasure - _his_. He had located this untouched monument - no bogus maps or backstabbing guides to lead him, just his own dogged persistence deciphering the ancient Zeintan language and studying the topography of the planet. He wouldn’t be denied now.

He reached out and touched the statue. It was a little taller than his palm, a little fatter than the width of his wrist. It fitted into the android’s grip perfectly. He let his fingers close on the cool metal, paused for a moment, then lifted it.

Somewhere in the stone of the pillar he heard a click as the weight was removed, then a distant answering click in the cavern overhead.

The blade swung down out of the shadows, a scythe with jagged teeth designed to rip through flesh and bone.

Behind him Ishara shouted a warning, but in the end his own superhuman speed was all that saved his skull from being split in two. Lore shifted to the side, felt movement like a breath against his ear then watched as the cutting edge passed his head and tore up his arm, scribing a perfect arc that ended just in front of the plinth where the statue had been.

The android dropped to the floor before the blade could swing back, miraculously still holding the idol in fingers that were now frozen and lifeless. He watched as the scythe moved, a pendulum above him, slowing with each pass until finally it lost momentum and ground to a halt.

Ishara’s hand grasped his shoulder and he heard her curse as the transporter hidden in her ring failed to activate. “The metallic ore in the rock is blocking the beam,” she snapped, as if she were telling him something he didn’t know. “Are you ok?”

Lore ignored the question. An alert blared in his head, informing him that his right forearm and the corresponding hand were no longer functional. He tried to deactivate the nagging internal alarm but it was impossible to silence.

He got to his feet, staggering a little as he recalibrated his balance sensors to compensate for the damage. Ishara hovered stubbornly at his side, her own arm outstretched in case he needed support.

Under the ground there was vibration, a trembling that spread throughout the cavern until the movement was everywhere. Lore heard a harsh sound, a grinding moan - was it a long forgotten mechanism, gears wrenching painfully to life or something more sinister, waking in the depths?

The android wasn’t about to wait to find out. “Move!” he yelled.

They ran together.

The whole passage was shaking, streams of rubble falling from the ceiling, chasms opening in the dirt floor. They had unleashed a chain of destruction that was trying to outpace them down the narrow tunnel. Ahead the patch of daylight that had been growing steadily brighter began to diminish, large chunks of rock falling to block the entrance.

Lore sped up, pulling Ishara with his good arm. The prospect of being trapped in this place was bad enough but now he was sure he heard a loud roaring behind them, felt the pounding of heavy feet close at their heels. Lore had studied enough Zeintan legends to be aware of the ancient people’s belief in monsters from hell - he did not want to discover the truth in those stories firsthand.

He grabbed Ishara around the waist and lunged forward, propelling them both through the collapsing tunnel mouth into the daylight beyond.

They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Lore glanced back in time to see the temple doors crumble into a thick cloud of dust - if there had been anything pursuing them it was gone, trapped inside. He activated his transporter and felt relief as the shimmer consumed them.

Lore made no move to rise from the metal pad in the Pakled ship cargo bay. Internal sirens warned him that he had sustained damage needing attention, yet his mind lingered on the planet below.

Had something been chasing them? Some terror woken from a long slumber underneath the cavern when he removed the idol? It seemed like foolishness - and if Ishara had suggested the notion he would have replied with a heartfelt, ‘Pffft.’ but the sense of pursuit had been palpable.

Underneath him Ishara dragged in a shuddering breath and began to cough horribly, breaking his paralysis. She must have inhaled that dust. She would be fine as soon as the spasms passed - if he let her get some air.

He rolled away into a sitting position, deliberately keeping his back to her as he assessed his injuries. The blade’s jagged teeth had shredded the thick fabric of his jacket, ripped open the bioplast skin on his forearm, then cut deeper, destroying wires and servos to fix his hand into a clenched fist. His arm was a mess, but at least he could still see the glint of the golden treasure between his fingers...

Abruptly he realised that the cargo bay was silent. Ishara had stopped coughing and was kneeling behind him on the transporter pad, peering over his shoulder. “Lore, your _arm_....”

Her tone was pure horror. It was enough to jolt him into an awareness of all that she could see - the mangled metal and circuitry that constituted _him_. He felt a sudden panic. Ishara knew he was an android but he had always taken pains to avoid displaying the full reality of his synthetic nature to her - there was no hiding it now.

Unable to meet her eyes Lore rose and stalked out of the cargo bay, heading toward the empty crew cabin he had commandeered as a workshop. He could hear Ishara scrambling to her feet, following him along the corridor.

“Lore - wait!”

He didn’t slow down. His rapid strides took him through the door before she could catch up. He let it slide shut then toggled the lock to keep her out.

The small cabin had long since been stripped of all organic necessities - a workbench replacing the bunk, shelves lining the closet space. The room was cluttered but orderly so that, even though every inch was filled with what looked like junk, Lore knew exactly where to find what he needed.

A vintage swivel chair pulled close by the bench was the only concession to comfort and he sat down heavily, ignoring the familiar creak of wood and leather.

The workshop had become a private space for the android ever since he found himself in such close quarters with a human. Ishara smirkingly called it his ‘man cave’, and, although Lore didn’t understand the reference, it seemed to mean that she accepted his need for solitude without complaint.

Until now.

“Hey, don’t you dare shut me out!” she yelled from the corridor.

Lore ignored her, shrugging awkwardly out of his ruined jacket. It would be easier to work on his forearm without the weight of the statue so with a firm twist he used his good hand to disconnect the frozen one and put it aside on the bench. The sight was unpleasant. He had never liked maintenance that involved removing body parts. It was too vulnerable, too close to disassembly.

He drew a deep, deliberate breath, trying to cool his processors and rein in his emotions then rested his bare arm on the work bench to assess the damage properly.

Outside Ishara began to pound the door with her fist. “Lore!”

Lore pulled a tool case from a drawer and selected a suitable hydrospanner. In his head the sirens were insistent, almost painfully so, providing a wailing counterpoint to the bangs coming from outside.

“ _Lore_!”

The android gritted his teeth. A self destructive part of him wanted to open the door and show her properly what she could only have glimpsed in the cargo bay. At least it would bring a decisive end to all his pathetic angst over their relationship. She would be shocked, revolted and it would be _over_.

Lore’s good hand clenched and a spasm contorted his features. He wasn’t ready for that... not now, not yet. He just needed a moment’s peace to sort his arm out, then the internal alerts would silence themselves and he could - literally - get a grip.

As if Ishara had read his mind the thumping suddenly stopped. “Ok, _fine_ ,” her voice echoed through the door. Her tone was cold, although the ‘fine’ sounded unsteady. “If ever you get injured and you can’t fix it yourself I guess I’ll just have to contact the Enterprise and get your brother to help.”

It was probable that the comment constituted a parting shot but the scenario she conjured up was too much. His struggling emotion circuits overwhelmed by a surge of fury, Lore slammed the tool down on his work bench and bolted out into the corridor.

Ishara had taken a few steps away from the door. She let out a surprised yelp as the android appeared, grabbed her arm and dragged her roughly back to face him.

“ _Get my brother to help?!_ Do you know what Starfleet and my _brother_ would do to me, Ishara? Do you? _Do you?_ ” He was half snarling, half yelling in her face, punctuating each phrase with a violent shake.

Her hands came up to his chest, maybe to brace herself, maybe to push him away. In the dim lighting of the corridor he could see that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. A part of his mind expressed dismay - he was hurting her, scaring her, spoiling everything - but the feelings that had been welling up in him overflowed and he couldn’t stop the stream of bitterness from spewing out.

“Do you think I’d get a cosy prison cell with counselling and rehabilitation? Do you? _Do you?_ They would take me apart piece by piece and put me back on a shelf, _where I would rot_!”

His voice rose to a hysterical pitch then, mercifully, stopped, leaving him empty apart from the sirens echoing inside his head.

Ishara trembled silently in his grasp. She kept her gaze downcast, as if he were a predatory animal she didn’t want to antagonise with eye contact, but he could see the glitter of moisture at the edges of her lashes.

Fear rose up in him - this was it, the end, he had finally gone too far, now she would hate him. Again he felt the cowardly temptation to finish it himself, to shove her away, return to his workshop and hide from his churning emotions.

She surprised him by speaking, her voice a shaky whisper, “I- I know that you won’t let me help you. If you were hurt I couldn’t do anything...”

Lore released her, stepping away so abruptly that she staggered. The admission that she cared - given through unshed tears he had caused, given although he was hurting her physically - was like a twisting knife.

Was her honesty a weapon? Somehow the soft words seemed to sting him into a confession of his own. “I... I don’t want you to see me as a machine,” he blurted out.

“A what?”

“A machine; an appliance, instrument, tool, utensil, device, contraption, gadget.” Lore spat the list of words without looking at her. As he finished speaking he slowly held his mangled arm up to the light - a handless stump, the pale skin torn open, the metal innards blinking with tiny lights - finally letting Ishara see, not only the devastation caused by the blade, but the extent of his inhumanity. “A thing.”

Ishara stared. The colour drained from her face, leaving her eyes dark. She braced herself against the wall, looking as if she might faint, or vomit and Lore felt a surge of cold triumph.

_What’s wrong, Ishara? Don’t like what your lover is made of?_

Before he could voice the question, she sucked in a couple of deep breaths, straightened up, and spoke unsteadily, “What do we need to do?”

“What?”

She sniffed, wiped her arm across her eyes. “I mean... is it... fixable?”

Lore blinked at her, astonished. Slowly it dawned on the android that she wasn’t sickened or revolted by him - she was deeply concerned for him and completely horrified to see that his hand was missing. How could he blame her for applying a human perspective to the situation? If he had been organic his injuries would have been very serious indeed.

A tide of relief swept over him, bringing a sobered awareness of the scene he had created. “Pffft. It’s not as bad as you think,” he muttered, embarrassed. He let his arm drop down and turned to re-enter his workshop. 

“Wait. Can I help? You could show me how to fix you up.”

Lore hesitated, caught again by surprise. He didn’t need her help, didn’t want a spectator to the undignified sight of him repairing himself... but he also didn’t want her sitting in the mess alone mentally replaying his dramatics and realising how badly he had treated her.

If he let her leave now he would lose his opportunity to fix this situation.

He thought it over for a split second then replied grudgingly, “You could watch.”

Once, on Omicron Theta, Lore had observed a human mother as her small son was treated for a deep gash to his leg at the colony’s infirmary. The wound hadn’t been serious, but the woman had held the boy’s hand throughout. She stood silently at his side while the doctor healed the cut, her face etched with a combination of sick fascination, mute sympathy and motherly pride at the boy’s stoic demeanour. As they left Lore saw her kiss the child’s head and heard her whisper how brave he had been.

It was a memory that he hadn’t accessed in years, but now, as he worked on his damaged forearm with Ishara close by, perched on a stool she’d brought from her cabin, the softly worried expression on her face reminded him of the other woman, so long ago.

Lore wasn’t sure why he had expected Ishara to react badly to the sight of his android innards. After all, he had sealed her cuts with a dermal regenerator several times and the squishy red wetness of her insides hadn’t changed his attraction to her. More fluids? he had thought with an internal eye roll, but that had been all.

Whatever paranoid possibilities he had entertained this amazing display of compassion hadn’t even entered his calculations. He found himself wondering if he might get called a brave boy and be in line for a few kisses too.

The prospect was rather appealing.

Fortunately the swinging blade had only grazed his arm and hand, penetrating just deep enough to sever the relays that carried impulses and power in his forearm and crush the servos that allowed movement in his fingers. The arm repair was simple. He removed the mangled circuit panel, disconnecting wires then popping it out of his forearm in one swift movement.

Ishara stared into the hollowed out cavity, her expression fascinated. Lore wondered what she expected to see, how she had imagined that he worked - or if she had ever even thought about it before. He watched her closely as he replaced the panel with a fresh one and a cascade of red and green lights shot along the metal surface, activating all the way down his forearm to the handless stump at the end.

“That’s the easy part,” he told her grimly.

“Do you _feel_ any of this?”

“There are internal alerts. Quiet at first, growing increasingly louder if the problem doesn’t resolve.”

“They must be screaming right now. Can’t you deactivate them?”

“I- I should be able to function, to ignore them...,” he broke off, unwilling to explain that he had never been able to achieve the mental discipline necessary to push the alarms to the back of his mind. He shook his head and finished brusquely, “They’re doing their job.”

He turned his attention to his damaged hand with the statue still clasped tight in the palm, braced himself then reconnected it to his wrist. He felt the tingle in his neural net, the power surge in his repaired forearm - signs that his positronic brain was trying to establish contact with his fingers. To his relief his thumb and little finger jerked responsively and came back online while his three middle fingers relaxed, resetting to an inert and rubbery default.

Lore twisted the golden man free and placed him to one side, ignoring the temptation to examine the statue instead of continuing with the repair.

“Now what?” Ishara breathed, leaning closer and peering into the wide gash on the back of his hand.

“See those twisted bits of metal?”

“Yes.”

“Those used to be the servos that control movement in my fingers. First of all I need to remove them.”

She frowned, “Wouldn’t it have been easier to do that with the hand disconnected?”

Lore indicated the needle thin connectors that had once been attached to the destroyed servo mechanisms, “I need power to release the broken ends from the clamps.”

“Are there still alarms?”

“Alerting me to the presence of foreign matter in my internal structure.” Lore picked up a pair of tweezers and tried to settle himself, to focus only on the fine pinching motions of his good hand. “When I get the broken pieces out it will stop.”

He clamped onto one of the larger shards of broken metal and tugged. One end came free but the other was twisted, linked into the servo next to it. Lore pulled harder and it snapped, the pieces falling back into the cavity. He suppressed a sigh. He didn’t have the patience for this - it was the sort of operation he might once have allowed his father to perform, even if it did mean sitting through one of the old man’s lectures.

“Let me do it,” Ishara said suddenly, reaching out her hand.

To his own amazement Lore let her take the tool from his fingers.

Ishara worked steadily, carefully removing all traces of the shattered servomechanisms. She bit her lower lip as she concentrated, focusing on the tiniest shards, completely oblivious to Lore watching her mouth intently as he tried to distract himself from both the nagging damage alerts and the strange intimacy of the situation.

In truth this whole exercise was futile - if he was injured badly enough Data or an experienced engineer _would_ be his only chance of survival, however little he welcomed the prospect. He could show Ishara how to mend skin or servos and talk her through repairs that he couldn’t reach, but it would take years to teach her anything truly meaningful - by the time she was trained enough to ‘fix him up’ she would be an old woman.

The thought was depressing and he shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. He usually tried not to think about the future - just as hard as he tried not to think about the past - but sometimes the melancholy idea that a lifetime was a different prospect for a human than for an android crept up on him. It was a bizarre consideration, given their reckless lifestyle and the probability of shared death at any time, yet there it was.

He fidgeted again. Thinking of Ishara’s demise was pointless - it was more likely that he’d screw up so badly that she’d leave him long before she reached old age. After all, not an hour ago he had been shaking her like a rag doll while he screamed into her face...

The recollection was uncomfortable. It hadn’t taken a genius to conclude that he would have to alter his behaviour if he wanted Ishara’s feelings for him to surface and he’d been trying to treat her better recently, but there he was losing his temper - again. It was hard not to feel discouraged by his inability to exercise some self control.

Another burst of memories swam up into his consciousness - his parents confronting him, Juliana tight lipped and angry, his father perplexed and hurt. “It’s not acceptable behaviour, Lore,” the old man had said. “Your Mother and I are very disappointed in you.”

That had been the first time he heard those words - it certainly hadn’t been the last. Lore recalled vividly the initial sense of shame which had mixed with defiance and a bitter awareness of the _unfairness_ of life.

He had snatched a young woman from the path of a runaway wagon, saving her from injury and damaging his leg badly in the process. Instead of thanking him she had taken one look at the mess of exposed circuitry, screamed for him to let her go and created a scene because he had ‘touched’ her.

Later that day her father had come to Soong’s laboratory to shout at the doctor about his ‘degenerate creation’ - which had prompted that ‘disappointment’ lecture. No one had even asked Lore for his side of the story.

In retrospect it was no wonder he had feared Ishara’s response - but he should have given her a chance to react _before_ he freaked out. Ishara had never treated him as anything other than a person. He should have had more faith in her.

He shifted guiltily in his chair.

This time Ishara noticed his small movement and looked up, “Did I hurt you?”

“On the contrary,” he replied cryptically.

She frowned but returned her attention to the open wound, “One more bit...”

“Good.” Lore moved his functional hand and took a small folio from the shelf over the bench, flipping it open to display a row of shiny new servomechanisms. “Now you can install these and we’ll be done.”

Lore wriggled his long fingers experimentally, ran an internal diagnostic, and nodded in satisfaction - full function restored. All that remained now was to cut away the ripped section of his skin, re-cover the gaping hole on the back of his hand with a new piece of bioplast, and seal the wound using a dermal rejuvenator specially calibrated to his android needs. He refused Ishara’s offer of further assistance - it was easier to determine the extent of the damage himself, using his internal sensors to prevent him from removing too much, or too little, of the broken sheeting. 

The sirens in his head had abated, replaced by a polite warning alarm that seemed like a whisper in comparison. He felt some of his equilibrium return, as if his rational mind had taken a grasp for the first time since they returned to the ship.

Maybe Ishara sensed his relief because she didn’t watch as he worked on his synthetic skin. The android normally discouraged her presence in the workshop so she glanced round the shelves with interest, peering at the collection of salvaged machinery waiting to be stripped for parts.

Finally her eyes settled on the gold statue lying forgotten on the workbench. She picked it up and looked at her partner with a wry smile, “You found your treasure.”

Lore considered for a second then replied slowly, “It seems so.” He fixed her with what he hoped was a meaningful gaze but after a moment she blinked blankly and returned her attention to the little idol.

The android suppressed a snort, half of irritation, half despairing amusement. Ishara wasimpervious to emotionally loaded hints. She could identify undertones of anger and sexual innuendo just fine but when it came to softer sentiments aimed in her direction she was as dumb as a box of rocks.

He had tried to tell her his feelings multiple times, but in the face of her eternally deadpan expression the words wouldn’t come out. If he was going to bare his soul he wanted some kind of mirroring response, not a half assed shrug.

Although... perhaps he shouldn’t worry so much about which _words_ would define their relationship, when they would be said and who would say them first. She was sitting there, wasn’t she? Caring if he was damaged, wanting to fix him, not giving up on him despite his angry outbursts - which was a damn sight more than his parents - or anyone else - had ever done.

“So,” he said suddenly as he finished sealing the bioplast on the back of his hand. “Now what?”

She was still examining the statue. She didn’t seem to appreciate it, judging by her face, “You could sell it. Or donate it to a museum. Or put it on a shelf in here.”

There was so much in the comment that was aggravating. It was _his_ treasure, there was no chance of him selling it, much less simply giving it away, and she had filled his ship with her junk; cushions, books, ornaments - but he was supposed to keep his meagre possessions in his workshop!

Lore rolled his eyes, held onto his temper and resolved internally to find the most prominent - and annoying - place possible to display the statue. “I meant ‘what do you want to do now?’ What’s next?” He shot her a suggestive look, “Beyond testing that my fingers are fully functional, of course.”

As expected she detected that sort of message immediately - he could tell by the sensual quirk of her lips that she wasn’t opposed to the idea - but she ignored it and quipped,“You’re letting me choose what we do? _Wow_.”

“Choose quickly, or I’ll change my mind.”

Ishara replaced the icon on the bench, looking thoughtful, “Well... I’d like to go somewhere clean, get dinner that doesn’t come from a replicator... maybe go shopping....”

Back to civilisation. Back to the organic hustle and bustle full of lights and noise. Ugh... but he had asked, and he wanted to please her. “OK. I’ll set a course out of the Zeintas system.” He shoved the tool case back in the drawer of the workbench a little harder than necessary, then closed it with a slamming clunk.

Ishara glanced at him, “Everything fixed?”

“Pfffffft. _I’m trying._ ”

For once Ishara seemed to catch the subtext of the remark. Her eyes widened a little, then narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak and he braced himself for a searching question - about his circuitry? The past? His feelings?

The words never came. To his surprise Ishara closed her mouth again, shook her headdismissively, then leant over to kiss him on the cheek.

The gesture was as confusing as it was unexpected. Lore felt her fingers stroke the back of his hair, the softness of her face against his, then a butterfly kiss against his lips as she pulled back.Before he could begin to process what the moment meant it was over and she was slipping away. He brought his arms up to detain her, but he had reacted too late - she deftly evaded him and stood in the doorway, smiling.

Lore stared at her. He wondered if he looked how he felt - perplexed, wide-eyed and strangely hopeful.

“You can check your fingers after lunch,” Ishara said teasingly as she headed out into the corridor. “I’m hungry!”

Left alone in his workshop the android settled back in his chair and let a grin spread over his face. It was the sort of smile he would never have allowed himself in public - gently unhinged, almost giddy.

_One day he would screw up so badly that she would leave him and it would be over... but not yet, not today._

_All fixed._

On the workbench the little gold statue grinned silently back at him.

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote ‘In Ruins’ (a Lore and Ishara hurt/comfort fic) I felt that I’d taken the easy option by letting Ishara be the one who was injured so this is my attempt to see things from the other side.  
> It’s taken a while to come together - at first the only part I had was Ishara banging on the door and Lore coming out in a fury and yelling at her. Sadly, I haven’t found lockdown that conducive to settling down to write, particularly not an angsty story like this one, so I’m very happy to have finally finished it!
> 
> I do intend to write a proper story that ties up all the treasure hunting loose ends, but I’m sowing the seeds in these shorter fics because it seems easier than setting up the whole thing in one go


End file.
